Page 11 of The Carver

I walked onto the property and stopped at the bottom of the stairs near the double doors that led into the house. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for Adrien to do his hair and makeup, so I lit up a cigar and enjoyed the cool night air against my skin.

He came out a moment later in his sweatpants and a black sweatshirt, his hair fucked up from sleeping on one side for so long. Hesitation was in his eyes, like meeting me at three in the morning was the last thing he wanted to do.

But at least he’d come out like a man instead of making me hunt him down like a rat.

When he got close, I blew the smoke from my cigar right in his face.

He tried his best not to react to the sting of the smoke, but his eyes watered.

“Be a man and give her the fucking divorce. You stuck your dick in other people—so it’s over. Drag it out for twenty years, and she still won’t take you back. That woman was too good for you even before you cheated, and we both fucking know it.”

He stayed several feet back, arms by his sides, his eyes tired from being jerked awake in the middle of the night.

“And if you interfere in our relationship again, I’ll cut off a finger and make you choose which one.”

“She deserved to know who you are.”

“And she deserved to know who you are, but you failed to tell her. But don’t worry about it. I let her know. I let her know that the Aristocrats have wanted you dead for a long time. And something tells me they’re getting close in their search.”

His face was already pale, but it managed to dim.

I pulled out the cigar and flicked it in his face.

He jerked as the ashes sprayed him. “Jesus.”

I watched him brush the ash off his sweats then step on the cigar to make sure it was out. “She’s the reason you’re still alive—if you’re wondering.”

I’d just finished a workout at home when she called. It was almost eight in the evening, but I’d skipped my morning workout because I had too much shit on my plate. I stared at her name on the screen and watched it ring, my thumb tempted to hit the green button and take the call, but I didn’t.

I let it go to voice mail.

I wasn’t sure if she would leave a message, but it was best if she didn’t because I would delete it without bothering to listen to it. My temper had flared, and now it burned everything. She was the last person I expected to make me this angry.

Whenever she called or texted in the past, I always answered her in seconds. I proved that she was a priority over everything else, a privilege no one else had. She must have realized what she’d had—and, hopefully, what she’d lost.

She didn’t leave a message.

She didn’t call again.

I left the phone on the bathroom counter then stepped into the shower. I suspected that was the last time she would contact me. Our white-hot burning passion burst in a crescendo and then turned straight to ash. If I weren’t so pissed off, that fact might bother me more, but she’d offended me, a man who wasn’t easily offended.

I stepped out of the shower and did a quick towel-dry before I looked at my phone again, wondering if she’d texted whatevershe wanted to say. That was the only way for her to get her message across when I refused to speak to her.

But there was nothing from her.

Instead, I had a text from Gerard.Fleur is downstairs in the parlor. Shall I send her upstairs?

I read the message at least twice, feeling the sudden tension in my chest. I hadn’t expected her to show up at my house like that. Honestly, I was a bit impressed that she cared enough to fight. With all the times she’d tried to run from me, I was surprised she was the one doing the chasing.Tell her to go home.

I put on my boxers and sweatpants before I stepped into the sitting room. I would spend the evening alone and watch the game, just me and a cool glass of scotch. That was how I’d spent my free time since she’d dumped me in Jules Verne. I wasn’t sad she was gone, not when I was still this angry about it.

Gerard texted me again.She said you’ll have to throw her out yourself.

I read the message twice, hearing her sass in my head. As if a pail of water had been dumped on my head, the flames of rage were doused for a second before they returned weaker than before.

What would you like me to do, sir?

My heart started to beat a little harder, and I hated that. I hated the way she made me burn in both good and bad ways. I hated the fact that I was actually hard knowing she was there to get me back, that she was there to fight for me like I’d fought so fucking hard for her. “What the fuck is it about this woman?” She was beautiful, but so were all the others. She had great tits and a fine ass, but Paris was the mecca for women like that. I didn’tbelieve in forgiveness or second chances, but there I was, feeling my anger slip through my fingers.Send her up. I typed the message without a second thought and hit send before I changed my mind.

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